“Do you expect me to travel there and travel right back? A month.”
He growled. “Very well.” He strode for the door. “Do as you please. But if you’re not back in a month, I’m?—”
“Coming after me?” She laughed, a bitter thing on her tongue. Like tea steeped too long.
He stormed from the room, giving no answer. For a man who lived like ice most of the time—cold and emotionless—he’d been brimming with heat of late. As if a summer sun had dropped inside of him and slowly melted him, bit by cracking bit from the inside.
She needed to walk. It would be a long journey to Hawkscraig, and she should stretch her legs before all opportunity to do so disappeared. She gathered her pelisse and made for the front door and found a familiar face on the doorstep.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dart,” Mr. Tidsdale said. He wore the most charming grin she’d ever seen.
“Mr. Tidsdale. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“Me?” No one looked for her. Ever. Well, Lord Andrew did, when he needed something done. “Do you wish me to… do something for you?”
He laughed, a full-throated, joyful thing. “Not at all. Not yet, anyway.” How had his grin grown even more charming? “I’d like your company on a walk.”
“A walk? But I barely know you. Why would you want to walk with me?”
“You made an impression yesterday. Are you going to come or not?”
She’d been going for a walk anyway, so she stepped out onto the street beside him. “I suppose so. I am on my way to Hyde Park.”
“Excellent.” He waited for her to start walking, then he matched his stride to hers. “I’ve been doing some asking around about you, and your Lord Andrew.” She swallowed a knot of anxiety. But he’d find nothing. Because there was nothing to find. “It’s how I discovered your whereabouts at the art school.”
“You’re quite… resourceful, Mr. Tidsdale.”
“You’ve no idea. But hopefully you will soon enough.”
“I do not enjoy riddles, sir. Speak plainly or I’ll take my walk in a direction wholly different from yours.”
He chuckled. “You’re a magnificent woman, Mrs. Dart.”
The compliment took her breath away. How often did she receive praise? Not often enough to become immune to it apparently. Yet… it did not impact her the way Lord Andrew’s words of gratitude had two days earlier. She’d almost wept. They were as close to softer feeling she’d ever get from the man, and she’d gathered them up like precious gems, held them close for admiring later.
“Why the compliments, Mr. Tidsdale?”
“I’m softening you up.”
“For what purpose?”
“I intend to steal you, Mrs. Dart.”
She stopped, and he continued forward several paces until he realized she no longer walked by his side. He turned, tilted his head, and gave her a curious look.
“Do you expect me, sir, to not react to such a pronouncement? Should I take it in as if you’d commented on the color of the sky?”
“A woman as remarkable as Mrs. Dart must expect to be stolen away at any moment.”
She scoffed and started walking once more. “Just where do you get the notion I’m remarkable? I’m a mere woman, nothing special about me.”
“You’re a widow, which means you know grief, but you do not let it guide your actions. You were hired by a marquess’s son to run an agency that connects good families with the right educators. Under your hand, that agency has grown enough in reputation to expand to London. Which is why you want the same house I want. Any of those things would make you remarkable. All of them together—” He whistled.
“My. You learned so much of me in such a short time? You are more resourceful than I first thought.”
“Now you havesomeidea.” He winked.
